


Reset

by krityan



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krityan/pseuds/krityan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Taken. Just quiet shadows, following behind like always. The old remains of lost humanity hold their shape beneath the malevolent twisting darkness. The heavy strides and confident lift of the head were a clear reflection of the life once lived by this shadow, for instance.<br/>It was a quiet distinction, but a noticeable one. The sort of shudder and realization only described in horror novels when the Nameless Terror made its move. Alan froze, running his flashlight across the long row of logging trucks. What was with these people and logging, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babel/gifts).



The Taken. Just quiet shadows, following behind like always. The old remains of lost humanity hold their shape beneath the malevolent twisting darkness. The heavy strides and confident lift of the head were a clear reflection of the life once lived by this shadow, for instance.  
It was a quiet distinction, but a noticeable one. The sort of shudder and realization only described in horror novels when the Nameless Terror made its move. Alan froze, running his flashlight across the long row of logging trucks. What was with these people and logging, anyway?

Movement.

Alan spun, caught sight of the axe with just enough of an opening to delay the shadow-wrapped wielder with the light and stumble from the blade's path. He moved left, doing his best to keep the feeble stream of light on his attacker. The batteries were low. He hoped there was only one.

The depth of the darkness was something Alan Wake admired, and always thought about as a child. He understood Alice's fear, when the pressure of it all closed in on him in these woods, along the roads, even in the buildings. Every meaningless light switch he found, he understood the presence of darkness.

Somehow, it frightened him more then the men stalking through the woods. Despite their state of /Taken,/ it was the ability of the darkness to crush their humanity, setting into motion the instinctual parts of them that really created Alan's anxiety.

It was noticing the details that really made a writer. A wry sort of tone of the thought, as reflexes brought Alan's hands up. The beam of light held steady against the creature, waiting for the flash. Were they still Taken without the Darkness? The pistol trembled.

One...two. Run. The cabin, the lake. Alice. His mind wandered back, anywhere but where he was.

\--

An unwelcome morning. The colors were clearly too bright to be tolerated by any normal person. This was an easy conclusion to follow through to closed curtains and an unplugged clock radio. The damn thing whined and that wasn't his fault. Probably should have checked the time first. Whatever, it didn't really matter. His cellphone was in the room somewhere, a ticking time bomb of sound.

If Alice came home early, he'd just stay in his office. It was all it had been good for for the last six months. Was she even in town? He briefly regretted being unsure on that fact. She had mentioned she had a shoot out of time, but he hadn't really been listening-- was it this week or next week? He stumbled into the inviting darkness of the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet door.

\--

He sorted through his belongings. 2 flares. A flash-bang. He was low on shells for the shotgun, but knew the revolver he carried was fully loaded. The flare-gun. He rested his hand over the pocket filled with batteries, looking over his flashlight was wondering how long this light would really stay with him.  
It was worth it all for Alice. 

She was lost completely to the darkness, deep in the lake and somewhere beyond the lake cabin.   
Alan decided to leave the shotgun. The lake wasn't so far now, and he was confident he could reach it easily. He'd have to run, but saving Alice. Saving Alice gave him the motivation. The manuscript, he nearly crumpled the pages reaching for them so suddenly. Had they said anything about the lake? Too many times. He'd gone over them over and over, the events were impossible to keep straight any more. What had happened? What had he read? Which events lined up together, twin stars of reality versus fiction, each one pulling its own gravity through the story? His head throbbed, the bandage he'd acquired. Yesterday? Pulled at his skin as he made faces at the pain.

When this was all over, he was never leaving the apartment again. He'd have coffee shipped in by the crate, and give up sleep, darkness and having contact with any human being not named "Alice" or "Barry" ever again.  
He tucked the papers back into his jacket, and ran over the mental inventory again. He was going the lake, and he was going to find Alice there. No matter who would step into his path. Hartman, the kidnapper, the Taken. They weren't important parts of his story. He would stand by that, There was no one besides Alice.

He pushed his way forward, following the single, thin beam of light he had to guide him. He tuned his ears carefully to the sounds of the forest, listening for anything unusual. is ears rang from either his injuries or all the gunfire, but he had not choice but to tolerate it.

\---

 

The sounds really provided the most distraction. It didn’t matter what kinds of sounds, where they were coming from or whether Alan could even identify them. Living in New York City made that something a major fault. Still he’d sit in his office listening to the mixture of traffic and muffled machinery.

Alice on the phone, that low buzz that would emit from the light table in her office. Really, that was his favorite sound. It would go on and on throughout the day and offer endless amusement when she’d leave the house and forget to turn it off. It always served as a little reminder of her existence in his life. He could easily recall the sound , listening to it in the depths of his mind. It made for a good escape from the hours-long book signings he had to endure too-often. The voices of fans just faded into the sounds he imagined instead. Hums and buzzes. Alice talking to herself, to her computer? Her quiet voice cursing and repeating commands. Rustling papers. His own typewriter’s keys tapping hammer to paper.  

Anything had to better then the same mindless praise over and over again. Couldn’t these kids find anything that was really worth reading? He couldn’t stand Alex Casey. Maybe he’s kill him in the next one. See if anyone writes the same (it was like they filled out a form,) “I can’t wait for the next case!” generic letter then. The sounds around him buzzed their steady pace. Alan decided it must be fates way of giving him the go ahead. He liked to think of his writing as a weapon sometimes, but it really seemed like he was the one under attack sometimes.


End file.
